


Distraction

by soy_em



Series: Distraction [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s12e11 Regarding Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9680651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: Losing his memories means that Dean loses inhibitions Sam didn't even know he had.Missing scene from s12 e11 Regarding Dean.





	

_“Could be a memory spell. Did his hair fall out? His body hair too?”_

_“What?“_

_“From the neck down, is he smooth like a ken doll?”_

_“I don’t know, and I’m not checking, either.”_

The problem is, as soon as Sam puts the phone down on Rowena and her barely concealed glee, he knows he’ll be checking. He might mouth off to Rowena about it, but if there’s a chance that Dean’s body hair is a clue to saving his brother and his memory, then he’s not going to pass it up.

He sighs to himself. He’s barely holding back panic by the skin of his teeth, but at the same time, the whole situation is so unbearably frustrating. Having Dean is rapidly descending into having a large, skilled toddler who has license, in the eyes of the public, to go anywhere and do anything that adults do - but without any of the sense of preservation that most adults spend their lives developing (never mind the heightened sense of awareness both Winchester’s have experienced since childhood). He feels like he has to watch Dean every second to make sure he’s not causing mischief or wandering off, putting himself into who knows what danger.

So Sam already knows that he’s going to try anything to fix this. Including checking out Dean’s body hair.

The problem is that Dean, with his dark blonde hair and fair, freckled skin, has always been so lightly haired. Sam himself is covered in dark fur on his chest, arms, legs, hell even his feet - easy enough to check. But Sam has been sharing motel rooms with Dean for almost his entire life and he knows that Dean couldn’t be more different. So he’s going to have to really look.

His plan gets derailed slightly by the fact that Dean has, as Sam feared, just wandered off, but by the time he’s located his errant big brother and gotten them secure in the right hotel room again, he’s determined to bite the bullet.

“Hey Dean,” he stutters, not quite sure how to articulate the next part of the conversation. Dean pauses where he’s investigating the differences between the lamps in the motel room, flicking the switches and exclaiming over the different levels of light. 

“Yeah?”

“I need to check something. Come here for a second.” Sam steels himself for this most un-brotherly of moments. “Can you take your jacket off?”

“Sure,” Dean replies, with something like the grin he’d given the waitress earlier that day. “Anything for you.”

Dean looks like he’s seconds away from winking, so Sam scowls at him. It doesn’t stop Dean from sliding the first of his many layers off, and a quick glance at Dean’s wrists, hidden under white Fed shirt-cuffs, tells Sam that this isn’t going to be enough. “Shirt, too,” he says, heart sinking.

Dean does wink this time, the ingrained impulse to flirt apparently impossible to refuse. Despite the severity of the situation, Sam is unable to stop his own eyes from rolling. 

“Calm down, cowboy. I just need to check something for a spell.”

“Do we know spells? What about witches?” Dean looks ridiculously excited at this - when he gets better, Sam is definitely going to remind him that at least once in his life he was pleased at the idea of witches. 

“Yes, we know witches. Now, shirt off.”

Dean grins again, and slowly pulls his shirt over his head, making a big production of it. As inch after inch of golden, freckled skin is revealed, Sam is reminded (as if he could ever forget) why women flock to Dean. His brother is just as strong and muscular as Sam is, if not more so, but it’s so clearly honestly earned muscle, not a hint of gym-rat definition. Sam always feel self-conscious about his own body, about how hard he works to keep in shape, whereas Dean has always seemed to put on muscle without the slightest effort, and it shows. 

Dean finally pulls his shirt over his head with a flourish, and Sam is caught staring. “Like what you see?” 

Sam flushes up to his hairline. “I just need to check something,” he forces out. “Only take a second.”

“Shame,” Dean says, low. 

Sam can’t remember the last time he paid attention to the detail of Dean’s body, usually more concerned with patching up whatever wound his brother has acquired, so he can’t remember if Dean has always been this smooth. He runs his hand down Dean’s forearm, and can barely feel any hair there either, just fine, soft golden fuzz - certainly nothing compared to his own. His heart is starting to beat double time at the thought that maybe this is the spell kicking in.

“Feels nice,” Dean’s voice breaks him out of his burgeoning panic. 

“I’m just checking.” He pulls Dean’s arm above his head and peers at his brother’s underarm.

“Mmm, kinky,” Dean says, helpfully leaning back against the wall and raising his other arm up, crossing them above his head. “Do we normally do this?”

“God Dean, no. We’re brothers.” Sam is starting to feel like the situation is spiralling out of his control.

“Shame,” Dean repeats. “You’re gorgeous. What a waste.” He pulls his wrist out of Sam’s hold and trails his fingers along Sam’s cheekbone, and then under his jaw. Sam shivers, caught for the moment in Dean’s green eyes.

“Brothers, Dean,” he finally manages, shaking his brother’s hand away from his face.

“Is that an issue?” Dean sounds like he’s genuinely asking, and Sam is reminded how quickly Dean is slipping away. He looks determinedly at Dean’s underarms. 

“Did you always have this little body hair? Did you not go through puberty?” 

His tone is snarky, but Dean doesn’t even seem to register it. “Definitely did. I can show you the proof if you want.” His voice has dropped an octave and it’s a quiet, suggestive whisper. 

Sam definitely hasn’t realised that somehow they’ve ended up with Dean pressed against the grimy motel wall, Sam looming over him and Dean’s arms still pinned above his head. Time seems to have slowed, Dean’s heavy-lidded eyes, with his ridiculous, beautiful eyelashes blinking up at him in almost slow motion. Somewhere, very deep down, Sam tries to remember that Dean knows exactly what he's doing, exactly the effect he has on people, and is not afraid to use that knowledge to get exactly what he wants. But with Dean so close, smelling comfortingly of big brother and looking like he’d be up for anything, it's hard to focus on that. 

“I bet you’ve got some real proof to show me as well,” Dean continues. “Guy your size. Bet you’re packing.” Dean licks his lips, and Sam can’t look away. It feels like he’s trapped, caught in treacle, his thoughts increasingly stuck on his beautiful brother. 

“Dean,” he tries one last time, “we’re brothers.”

“Uh huh, so you keep saying. Don’t see the big deal.” Dean surges up, suddenly, pressing his lips and body against Sam’s. Their hips snug in against each other as if they were made to fit and Dean licks insistently across Sam’s lips. Sam’s heart is pounding in his chest, his vision almost swimming with the many, many emotions swirling through his mind. He opens his lips on reflex, and Dean hums happily. 

“God, you’re so pretty,” Dean says, pulling back for a moment. “Would be such a waste if we didn’t do this.” He dives back in and Sam sinks for a moment into the abyss, only able to focus on how goddamn good it feels as Dean nips at his lower lip, soothing it seconds later. Whatever else Dean might have forgotten, he hasn’t lost any of his skills here. His hands tighten impulsively around Dean’s raised wrists and Dean groans. 

“Yeah, pin me. Feels good.” His brother bucks against him. “God, so you’re so _big_. Just big all over.”

Dean’s dirty mouth is enough to snap some sense into Sam, and he realises to his shame that he’s hard in his pants. He tries to ignore the fact that Dean is, too, and they’ve been rocking lightly against each other, which has no doubt been a major contributor to how cloudy his mind feels. He uses his grip on Dean to put distance between them.

“Dean, no.” 

To his credit, Dean clearly hasn’t forgotten about consent, and he stops immediately. He does pout though, and Sam has to look away from those beautiful, plump lips - something he finds unimaginably difficult now that he knows how they taste. He suddenly feels like every creepy guy he’s ever seen checking out his brother, objectifying him.

“Dean, we’re brothers. I know you don’t remember, but that does matter. And you’ll regret this once you feel better again.” Taking another step back is one of the hardest things Sam’s ever had to do.

Dean snorts. “I absolutely cannot imagine that. How often do I ever meet guys as hot as you?”

Sam feels like he’s thirteen again, with the amount he’s blushed since he started this.

“You don’t usually go for guys,” he can’t help saying. 

Dean seems honestly confused by this. “I am 100% sure that’s not true.” 

“I am 100% sure that it is,” Sam counters.

“Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. Or we could test it out…” Dean’s smirk is fully back in place. He’s still up against the wall where Sam had pushed him, still shirtless and of course, still stunning. He licks his lips oh so slowly, eyes sliding down Sam’s body to where Sam is still hard in his pants. 

Sam’s breath is still coming short, and he scrambles for a way to stop this while he still can. Dean is like a child, he thinks, frustrated because Dean has always been better with kids than he has. What would he do with a child who wanted to do something they shouldn’t?

His mind tumbles gracelessly about for a few moments, pinging between ‘child’ and ‘so, so hot’ and back to ‘child’ again, before somewhere from the depths of his brain he pulls up Jess’s five year old nephew. He hasn’t thought about the kid in years, had only met him once or twice _(god, he must be nearly adult by now, no, don’t think about that)_ but he vividly remembers the kid wanting a toy gun. Jess hadn’t been willing to buy him one - and had distracted him with lego.

 _Distraction_ , he thinks, elated. 

Unfortunately, while he’s been trying to think about tactics, Dean’s hand has moved to his fly, and Sam can now tell that Dean definitely doesn’t lack body hair - Sam can see golden-brown curls just under where Dean’s hand is pushed into his own pants. 

Dragging his eyes away, he says, “Dean, have I told you about the time we fought zombies?”

Dean’s eyes snap from Sam’s crotch to his face. “Zombies?” he says, eyes bright.

“Yeah, Dean. We fought them a while back. If you put your shirt back on I’ll tell you all about it. And the time we fought this ghost that made you so scared you got chased by a tiny little dog.”

“Yeah right,” Dean says, offended. “That so didn’t happen.”

“Did so.”

“How?” Dean is, thankfully, doing up his fly now and he pulls one of Sam’s t-shirts over his head.

“Well…” Sam begins, relieved.

 

***

They get through the next couple of days without Dean propositioning him again, or trying to kiss him, or any of the thoughts that Sam just doesn’t really have time to process right now. There’s a slightly tense moment when Dean seems to think that Sam and Rowena are going to enact live Skinemax porn just for his entertainment (Rowena looks so amused that Sam almost strangles her, has to remind himself how badly he needs her help), but otherwise, they manage to get Dean’s memory back without any more compromising moments.

Dean is quite clear with Rowena that he doesn’t remember anything, and even through his own relief, the transformation of her face from barely-concealed worry to a lighthearted smile is enough to pique his interest. She even hands the spellbook over without a fuss, and it’s so out of character that Sam is suspicious. He files it away in his mind to ponder at a later date. 

He doesn’t want to dwell on what they’ve experienced the last few days; in fact, he’d be happy to never think again about the panic and despair he’d barely kept at bay. But now that he’s not fixated on that, the other thoughts keep creeping back in - the ones about how his brother had tasted, how he’d felt pressed up against Sam, how sweetly he’d let Sam pin him against the wall. How sure Dean had been that he was into men. Sam just can’t stop thinking about it. 

“Anything weird happen while I lost my memory, Sammy?” Dean asks that evening, as he’s undressing, shucking a few of his layers before going for a shower.

“Nope,” Sam says studiously, eyes on his laptop.

“Boring.” His voice slides into the kind of teasing, flirty tone usually reserved for waitresses or cheerleaders, and he winks at Sam. “Don’t forget Dory got her memory back though.” 

It’s only after the bathroom door slams shut that Sam realises that Dean had never mentioned Dory before he lost his memories. 

Maybe his brother remembers after all. “Shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel?
> 
> Come check out my [Tumblr](https://www.soy-em.tumblr.com).


End file.
